


there's a question i gotta confess

by echoesofstardust



Series: she took my heart (like she took my hand) [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Sparkling Moments Challenge, it's all sap and fluff, wedding proposals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:54:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23393587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoesofstardust/pseuds/echoesofstardust
Summary: Whenever he decides to ask her, she already knows her answer.
Relationships: Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Series: she took my heart (like she took my hand) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682713
Comments: 54
Kudos: 87





	there's a question i gotta confess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peacefulboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefulboo/gifts).



> Dear peacefulboo,
> 
> Happy birthday! I hope your day’s as wonderful as it can possibly be, and that it’s full of light and joy and love. Hope you like this humble little present of mine - it’s the smallest of thank-yous that I can give you for all your kindness and thoughtfulness and for being an incredible writer who I look up to so much. Much love! <3

Their apartment is always full of music. 

The sound of the water running as he's washing the dishes and she's drying them, the opening and closing of the front door whenever one of them comes home, in the hum of the television in the background, the timbre of his laugh and the melody of hers. It’s a song that tells a story of domesticity and mundanity and a whole lot of love.

And of course, he’s pretty much always singing, to her and with her and for her, and she’s still not quite a country convert, but she’ll always, always make an exception for him. The speaker in the kitchen alternates between the music she’ll be dancing to in her shows, and the jazz he chooses to put on as he’s cooking.

She loves him, with a fervour akin to flames and an expanse like all the oceans, and it’s supposed to fade a little, isn’t it? But it hasn't yet. And maybe she’s being wide-eyed and naive about it but she doesn't think it will, for as long as she wakes up every day and chooses him and this life they’ve started to make together.

She catches herself, smiles a little like she does whenever she starts to think of something a little closer to forever. They’ve talked about it, what they both want, and while she knows there’s still a lot of things they need to discuss, they’re both on the same page that what they want, really, for the rest of their lives, is each other.

Forever is the sort of thing attached to that question with four words and a small velvet box tucked away in some hidden corner, and she knows he knows what her answer is going to be, but it’s not a question she’s heard yet. Sometimes, he’ll do something sweet and she’ll wonder if the moment’s coming, but it doesn’t, and she’ll chuckle to herself later, maybe even against his chest in their bed. He’ll ask what’s funny and she’ll lift a shoulder in a sort of half-shrug, and she’ll kiss him because she can, and then there’s a lot less talking for a long while.

Loving him is like slipping on your favourite winter sweater, the one that’s a little worn-in and cosy and warm but you can’t imagine ever having another. You know every gap that you can wiggle your fingers through, every place you’ve had to patch up with needle and thread and an affectionate smile, but it doesn’t make you love that sweater any less. If anything, you love it more because it’s grown with you.

She feels at peace when she’s with him, settled in her bones. Whenever he decides to ask her, she already knows her answer.

–

It’s a rare day that she’s able to come home earlier than intended, her ballet rehearsals usually demanding every hour she’s able to give. She loves what she does, loves pushing her body to the limit and artistically expressing herself through music and dance, but she’s never going to complain about being able to come home earlier to Scott.

Scott’s schedule takes him around the country, and even internationally, as his music has gained popularity these past two years. It’s been especially hard whenever their schedules seem to work against them, on the nights on her own when the ache in her heart settles deep and won’t go away, phone calls she doesn’t want to hang up on and a tear or two shed on especially frustrating days, but it makes any time they have together even more cherished.

She knows he’s home for all of today, at that part in his creative process where he’s still fleshing out ideas on his own. He’d promised her her favourite dinner when she comes home when she’d left him this morning and she's looking forward to it. 

But she's mostly looking forward to him. 

She slips in the key to their door, opening and closing it as soft as she can. She wants to surprise him. She toes her shoes off, placing them neatly on the shoe rack, aligning a pair of his sneakers correctly dangling precariously as she goes. Honestly, this man.

She drops her bag near the door—she'll unpack it all later, she just wants to see Scott—wondering where he is. 

The kitchen's quiet, which makes sense since it's too early for him to be making dinner. She checks the nook that he's improvised to be his at-home recording studio but he's not there either. 

It's not until she's wandered closer to their bedroom that she starts to hear the faint sound of him strumming his guitar. His voice follows soon after, his perfect croon that's smooth and rough in all the right places, that never fails to make her toes curl into the carpet. 

_One of my favourite things_

_Is you talkin' about your day_

_When you give me that smile_

_And we sit for a while_

_And you roll your eyes and say_

_Somethin' 'bout that traffic jam in the morning_

_Telling me something that made you keep laughing_

_And I'm lost in your eyes_

_Like that very first time_

_And I'm the luckiest man that you call me ‘mine’_

_Oh_. She stops, presses a hand to her chest. The fluttering of her heart is still the same whenever she realises he's got another song written for her; that someone loves her enough to immortalise that feeling in lyric and note and chord. 

_I ask you how I got so lucky_

_You kiss me softly_

_Love letters on our lips_

_You ask me my best memory_

_Of you beside me_

_But how do I choose from that list_

_If I ask you if you know_

_I'll go wherever you go_

_Will you say you do?_

She does. She does know, more than anything. She presses the back of her hand to her eyes, can feel something like a laugh or a cry bubble up her throat but she wants to stay quiet so she can keep on listening. She walks closer, the warmth of Scott's voice enveloping her. 

_One of my favourite things_

_Is when you make me eggs on toast_

_Wearing my t-shirt_

_Your eyes somehow greener_

_And I'm the luckiest man that I'm who you chose_

_You let me listen to country_

_Even though you don't want to_

_Unless it's one of the songs I wrote about you_

She tries not to laugh. He's got her there, guilty as charged. 

_Our kisses hello_

_Kitchen-dancing slow_

_Baby please tell me you'll never let me go_

_Will you let me promise you forever_

_Leave you never_

_Hold your hand for all time_

_I love you more than words can say_

_And I'll try every day_

_To be the man worth your while_

He already is, and more besides. Their bedroom door's open and she leans against the frame, coming in just in time to hear the last few lines. 

_There's a question I gotta confess_

_That you might guess_

_Oh_ , she realises. 

_If I ask 'Will you marry me?'_

_Will you say_

He lingers, an open pause, as if there could be any other answer to his question. 

"Yes." She says it simply. 

"Tess!" His eyes shoot open, body jerking, making her laugh even as she's crying happy tears. "You—you're home early? You—you weren't supposed to hear that!" 

"You planning on proposing to someone else, Moir?" she teases as she walks over in front of him. He sets his guitar aside, his hands settling on her hips easily. She loves how he touches her, how he fits in the curves and lines of her body. 

He laughs, bowing his head forward until his forehead falls on her stomach. She runs her fingers through his hair, cupping his jaw until he's looking at her so she can dip her head down to kiss him. He holds her easily when she sits in his lap, like he could hold her forever. 

"I had a plan," he confesses, mumbled into her neck. "It was gonna be romantic and perfect like the movies." He draws back and there's an apology in his eyes. 

Honestly, this man. Her sweet, wonderful, generous man. Like any proposal could be less than perfect when it's him asking her.

"You wrote me a song," she whispers into the space between them. "You love me." She cups his face and tenderly rubs her thumb along his cheek. "You're asking me to marry you." She kisses him gently, smiling before she opens her eyes again. "That's as perfect as it's gonna be."

Tears are starting to form in his eyes, a twin picture to hers.

"Tess!" he says suddenly, and she's taken aback. 

"What is it?" 

He doesn't answer her, just merely stands up while still holding her and she squeals in surprise and wraps her legs around him reflexively. 

He brings her to the kitchen and opens one of the cabinet doors, giving an 'Aha!' once he's found what he's looking for. 

A small velvet box. 

"You hid it in the kitchen, Scott? Really?" 

"Had to keep it somewhere where you wouldn't willingly go, eh, T?" He smiles at her impishly. 

"I cook! Who made you breakfast yesterday morning?"

"Uh, I don't know if you remember, but your poached eggs, as much as I love them, weren't what I had for breakfast yesterday morning." He waggles his eyebrows and she blushes as she remembers exactly what they’d been up to. 

(His shirt rucked up to her hips with her legs splayed open for him, as he'd made her moan and keen and cry out his name with his mouth, her fingers tangled in his twisted mess of hair. Oh god, she probably needs to disinfect their kitchen counter again.)

Scott interrupts her train of thought by holding out the box to her with a bashful smile. She opens it. 

It's breathtaking. A delicate band that she just knows would fit just right on her left ring finger, a small gemstone inlaid in the setting, beautiful but understated, which she adores because she's never been one for flashy jewellery. Of course, he knows her. 

It's in a gorgeous shade of green, and she's sure that if she asks him, like the sap he is, he'll tell her it's the exact colour of her eyes. Just like in the first song he wrote about her that he didn't think she'd ever hear, but she did. The song that brought them together. 

"Tessa," he begins, although his voice breaks a little and she wipes the tears from his eyes with her thumbs because he's still holding her. "I love you, more than I ever thought I could ever love anyone. I didn't know how much I'd love you when I was nine and we first met. I thought I couldn't feel any more for you than I did when I was eleven and you chased after your dreams. I thought I couldn't be more awed by you than when I was twenty-two and watching you dance. I thought I couldn't you couldn’t take my breath any more than when we met again. Every day, I keep on thinking that I can’t love you any more than I do. But every day I love you more and more, and I don't think it's ever going to stop being like that. You…you make me the happiest, luckiest man to be with you, and I guess all I'm asking is if you’d let me be your person for the rest of our lives?” He pauses, swallows, smiles in the way she adores. “Will you marry me, Tess?”

“Yes,” she answers again, with a smile as bright as his own, the sort that makes your cheeks hurt but you couldn’t care less when it comes from this joy unimaginable. “Yes,” she leans forward to peck his lips once, “a million times, yes.”

He sets her down gently on the counter, takes her hand as gently as that first time, and slips the ring on. 

It’s perfect. Because it’s him who’s given it to her.

Her lips find his, and their kisses turn heated and passionate enough that by the time she’s whispering, “Bed, Scott, _please_ ,” he’s already anticipated her request, carrying her down the hallway.

“Not feeling the kitchen counter again?” he teases her.

“Shut up,” she replies, but it disappears in a giggle as he finds her ticklish spot on her neck, morphs into a moan as he lightly bites. “Bed’s so much better for your back, anyway.”

“You calling me old, kiddo?” he acts like he’s offended, but the twinkle in his eyes so much like the stars on that night on the rooftop, tell her how much he’s trying not to laugh.

She tugs him down, catches his lips in a messy kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he murmurs right against her lips, and then there’s a lot less talking for a long, long while.

–

She’s curled up against his side after, legs tangled with his, wearing nothing except his promise and his love around her left ring finger. She can’t stop looking at how it catches and refracts the light, can’t stop the happiness that’s in every part of her. She turns slightly to kiss the bare skin of his chest, looks up at him as he takes her hand and joins their fingers together.

“Hey, Scott?”

“Hmmm?”

She moves so that she’s a little more on top of him, so she can see his face easier. “What was your plan?” She tilts her head, gives him a sheepish smile. “The plan I accidentally ruined?”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he assures her, his hands moving up her back. “But I was gonna propose tonight,” he chuckles, “hence the rehearsal you walked in on.”

She giggles along with him. She really has the best timing when it comes to hearing his songs, ever since accidentally stumbling on his radio interview all that time ago.

“I was gonna make and pack your favourite dinner,” he continues, “and take you to the Patch’s music shop rooftop. It’s all decorated, actually,” he confesses, “Marie helped me out.”

“Oh, Scott,” she bites her bottom lip. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” he smiles, one of his hands cupping her cheek. “You’re here with me. You love me. You said ‘yes’. That’s all I could ask for.”

This wonderful man of hers.

“Can we still go?” she asks in a whisper. “Please?”

From the way he lights up, it’s exactly the right thing to say.

–

When they step out onto the rooftop, Tessa thinks that this must be what a love letter looks like.

He’s strung fairy lights all around, a picnic blanket already spread out with a vase of peonies sitting on, petals of that same flower scattered all over, a gentle nod to the bouquets he’s given her since that very first one.

She turns around and throws her arms around his neck. He sets the bag with their food down, his arms hugging her tight to him.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and she knows she’s starting to tear up again. He did all this for her, and he would have been willing to skip it all anyway when his planned proposal didn’t quite go the way he’d envisioned. She pulls back, cups his face and pecks him softly on his lips. “Scott, I—” she looks over her shoulder at everything that’s there, “—I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

He smiles, bashful then proud. “It’s you, T,” he says simply, like it’s nothing when it’s everything. He takes her hand and grabs the bag of food in the other and leads her to the picnic blanket. “Come sit?”

She does, spreading the skirt of her white dress, the same one she’d worn when they’d met again for the first time in a long time, so that it covers as much of her legs as she can. She’d stolen his hooded jean jacket just before they left because it’s warm and smells like him but the evening air is still chilly. Scott hands her one of the blankets strewn on top of the one they’re sitting on.

“Because I know you always run cold,” he says, the wink in his voice unmistakeable. He gets her to sit tucked in front of him anyway, her back pressed against his chest, which is wonderful because he always runs warm.

He takes out all the containers of food he’d prepared earlier, feeds her bites of everything and it’s like a kind of magic that she can taste all his love and all their memories in every flavour and sip and crumb.

She’s so pleasantly full, both her stomach and her heart, by the time they’re finished. She settles back in his arms once they’ve packed everything away, taking his hands in hers and tracing every line and divot and bump.

These are hands she can hold onto forever.

The thought is so startling yet welcome, like a firework inside her, and she has to bring his hands to her lips, press kisses on his skin like flower petals are pressed in between the pages of books, clasping her hands over his after like that’s enough to make them infinite.

It’s quiet with only the rise and fall of their breaths. It’s like a lullaby, the beat of his heart.

“Hey, Scott,” she whispers, a little softer and maybe, a little sadder. “I can’t promise it’ll always be perfect.”

“I know,” he hums against her hair. “I can’t promise that either.” She leans on his shoulder to look up at him. “We’ll get stressed, and we might say things that we don’t intend to be hurtful but are. We’ll forget important things, maybe, and sometimes we’ll probably be further apart than what we want to be, geographically.” He brushes her cheek with the back of his fingers. “We’ll lose people we love, and there’ll be days where we’ll just feel so lost...there’ll be hard days, I know. I can’t promise that there won’t be.”

He takes a deep breath, “But there are things I can promise. I promise to hold you tight on the hard days, and to hold you just as tight on the good ones. I promise to support you in all your goals and your dreams, to be your biggest cheerleader as you take on the world. I promise to listen to you, to laugh with you, and to love you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

His words, earnest and genuine and sure, beg for words of her own but he’s always been the one who’s better with them. She’ll look for them, and she won’t rest until she finds them, and she’ll tell them to him the next time she’s wearing white, but for now she turns around to hug him something fierce. 

He holds her tight, just like he’d said. She murmurs her love into his skin, just above his collarbone.

It’s a little while later, that she whispers into the dark and up at him, “Dance with me?”

He stands up first, holds his hands out. She puts one of her hands in his, her other hand keeping the blanket wrapped around her while she stands up. She tucks herself into him, her head against his neck, his arm around her and his other hand holding hers.

She thinks that the only music she’ll ever need is the steady beat of his heart, but Scott starts to croon, a song as familiar as the love he wraps around her, “ _Well she, took my heart like she took my hand, played my heartbeat like a drumbeat in a marching band…”_

He sings, as they dance, and the stars glimmer in the sky above. This, with her hand in his and his heart beneath her cheek, is all she could ever wish for.

**Author's Note:**

> you can listen to Scott's proposal song to Tessa [here](https://soundcloud.com/user-10700352/will-you-say/s-X1ucklvhFIT)
> 
> take care, sending you all my love! <3


End file.
